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"It's been haunting me," says Alexi, scribbling dark charcoal outlines down the side of the sketchpad. "For years. This dream." Her hands are shaking and her face is pale.

Her mother is bent over paperwork at her desk, and does not look up. "The one with the door?(more)
They sat in the very back row of the theatre, where it was darkest and no one could see Galamaer clutching the hilt of her sword as though she was trying to weld it to her hand. Mavis picked at the bag of popcorn in her lap, which she(more)
It occurred to Rossi, at some point, that the windows in her childhood home never had any glass. She had never noticed it before, as memory is an easygoing thing that forms itself into whatever shape we find most agreeable, and never mind the little details.
The medicine cabinet in his mother's house is empty.

This is due in part to the fact that his mother is dead (and the dead have no need for cold medicines or aspirin) and in part because after he nearly swallowed a whole bottle of pills, the doctor(more)
"We could-"

"Been done."

Tasha frowns. "I didn't even get to say what it was."
"You're such a pair of boobs."

Neither of the two have ever seen the girl before, and blink with confusion when she stops abruptly in front of them and begins to speak.
Darkness. Light - brief, blinding - playing across the wall from the high beams of a passing car; shouldn't even be on, not in this weather.

Millions of static dots shrieking from the ceiling, like a bad television pickup.

When he closes his eyes - geometric pattern(more)
Cassius slept through the morning and then the rest of the afternoon, not because he was tired but because otherwise he could not stop shaking.

He had woken up at around half past five to the sodium-yellow glow of a slowly dying streetlamp beating against the opposite wall(more)
She sat in the chair, ramrod-straight, and wished it would collapse beneath her.

"You are...," said the man behind the desk, "...startlingly human." His metal jaw clicked against his teeth. His metal fingers tapped a staccato pattern of tightened nerves on the edge of the polished mahogany. Hi(more)
...and slowly, lovingly, he slid the knife into her chest.
Ironically enough, it was only once he was within the presence of food that Cassius began to realise how hungry he was. There had been something ethereal about his time outside the city, as though he had been nothing but a wandering specter up until the point at which(more)
The ground was rust red beneath his feet, and the sky an inky black wrapped in the light of stars and bright Magellanic clouds, while the planetary rings loomed large in their erratic orbit and the violet aurora played across his upturned face.
These were the revelations of the flames:

That glass shattered easily as anything, no matter what holy images were printed on it; that if it splintered small enough it could blind and bleed worse than any jagged dagger ever could.

That stone could not burn, but i(more)
Here is the Church. Here is the steeple. Here is Marius Flannigan, crouched behind his desk while his mechanical golden fingers twitch against his knees, while his mechanical golden leg with it's filigree leaves stiffens in the joint and feels too tight in his boot, while his mechanical golden(more)
That was the day she realised that she had always hated the taste of cinnamon, that the feel of a satin bra slipping down her chest was about as liberating as sliding her hands into a pair of handcuffs and swallowing the key.